


I've Got a Collar Full of Chemistry

by calrissian18



Series: this shouldn't even be here [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Competence Kink, Emissary Stiles Stilinski, M/M, Magic, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Tattooed Stiles, Violence, tumblr!fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-12
Updated: 2014-01-12
Packaged: 2018-01-08 11:46:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1132271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calrissian18/pseuds/calrissian18
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek senses a trap.  He's right, of course.  It just wasn't set for <i>him</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I've Got a Collar Full of Chemistry

**Author's Note:**

> Pt. 3 of the tumblr!fic series. I was prompted by nuggetsfullofembeddedweirdness: "Far enough in the future that magic!Stiles is A Thing, and Derek discovers he has a competence kink watching him!"
> 
> I did not even know what a competence kink was, you guys. It _is_ exactly what it sounds like, thankfully.
> 
> [Original post](http://wellhalesbells.tumblr.com/post/68586029577/i-have-decided-i-like-the-way-my-followers-minds).

Stiles tilted his head to the side, mouth settling into a grim line.  “Well.  Someone’s compensating.”

Derek’s eyes shot over to him, assessing.  “Can you get around it?” he asked tightly, watching as Stiles tested the barrier.  There was something about his  _hands_.  Strong, capable, and inspiring the filthiest of fantasies.  Derek looked away just as the atmosphere rippled in front of them, the magic shimmering into visibility.

Stiles rolled up his sleeves, the runic tattoos on his forearms stark against his pale skin.  “But the work of a moment, my dear,” he said with a wink.  A purple glow sparked up at his fingertips and he sliced his index finger across the shield.

Derek watched, mouth dry and cock twitching, as Stiles curled his fingers around either side of the gash.  The ink on his arms  _shifted_  while he tore it in opposite directions.  A shock of red sparked across the protection and the magic glittered, fizzled, and shattered.  The physical force that had been pushing  _back_  against them since they’d arrived fell to nothing.

“All pizzazz, no substance,” Stiles said, disappointment twitching his lips into a frown.  “Not that I’m not guilty of the same.  You don’t really need the whole,” he reiterated the ripping motion he’d just used, “visual aspect of it but it’s so much more badass than just glaring it into submission.”

Scott clapped him on the shoulder.  “Intensely more badass, dude,” he agreed sagely.  He carefully stepped forward and was met with zero resistance.  He didn’t wait for Derek before he went tearing inside, looking for Lydia.

Derek didn’t like that they still couldn’t sense her, even without the barrier.  He turned back to Stiles, eyes narrowed.  “You’ll be all right?”

Stiles pointed to where the barrier had just been.  “I just ripped a hole in the damn atmosphere there.  The days of me showering myself with mountain ash while trying to do that circle-thing are long gone.”

Derek swallowed.  He knew that all too well.  Stiles’ ‘audition’ to be his Emissary had been full of pratfalls and utter ineptitude and it had been easy then.  Easy to push aside the  _want_ , to remember how young he was, how much maturing he had left to do.  Now he’d mastered his place in the Pack.  His talented hands and veined forearms no longer looked like a man’s attributes on a boy’s body.  No, now he carried the marks of his skill on his skin and in the soft glow of his eyes.  He could snap his fingers and collapse the entire street if he wished it.  He was powerful,  _strong_  beyond measure and it made Derek feel weak in response.

Derek was fucking  _desperate_  for him and maybe he could have had him once upon a time but now Stiles could do so much better, deserved so much more – someone at least half as fucking capable.  And that would never be Derek – who was never meant to be an Alpha and couldn’t rally a bunch of  _teenagers_  besides.

Derek stared down at the tattoos that curled like smoke up Stiles’ forearms with a frown and Stiles twitched his sleeve down in response.  Derek looked up at him and gripped his shoulder, squeezing before he let go.  “Be careful.”

Stiles waved him off, rolling his eyes.  “Go save that bus of school children, Fin Shepard.”

Derek raised a dark brow.  “I don’t want to know, do I?”

“You absolutely do not,” Stiles agreed with a brilliant grin.

Even with the barrier down, Lydia’s scent was no more readily available than before and now Derek couldn’t hear the scuff of Scott’s sneakers on concrete either.  Something about the building was throwing off his senses completely.  He turned back to Stiles.  “There’s something not right about this place.”

Stiles’ lips pursed.  “I won’t let anything happen to  _any_  of you.”

Derek believed him.  He raced in after Scott, hoping he hadn’t gotten too far.  He didn’t trust this place, not when it seemed to distort reality so effectively.  He rounded a corner and the scent hit him full in the face.  Wolfsbane.

Scott was in the middle of it, having tripped whatever it was that had released it, a deep gash in his arm.  At least it wasn't anywhere more vital.  

“Derek, don’t,” Scott groaned.  “The building’s a trap.”  He was clutching his bicep, trying to create a tourniquet with his own hand, blood slipping out from between his fingers.

Derek had already figured that much but what he didn’t understand was what the trap was for.  Lydia clearly wasn’t there, so why bring them here?  There were more effective, cleaner  _and_  simpler ways of killing them.

But this way guaranteed that they’d have their Emissary with them.

“It’s Stiles,” Scott echoed his thoughts.  “They want Stiles as their Emissary.” 

_Fuck_.  Fuck, fuck, fuck.  And they had left him alone.  And unguarded.  They’d played right into the Alpha’s hands.  Derek’s muscles  _burned_  as he ran back out the way he came.  He barreled into the door, nearly taking it off its hinges as he threw himself through it.

His heart stuttered as he took in the scene in front of him.  Stiles was watching the entrance, brow furrowed, while the Alpha slinked up behind him.  Derek couldn’t even shout a warning before there was a flurry of movement.

Stiles dropped down, clenched his hand into a fist and spun.  The Alpha stumbled backwards, blood spurting from his chest.  Which didn’t make sense because Derek would have sworn Stiles didn’t have a weapon.

Stiles stood over the Alpha, head tilted and eyes dark.  He hitched up his sleeves, tattoos  _blacker_  and slithering.  He crouched down over the writhing wolf. “You were seriously trying to  _sneak up_  on me?  That was your big plan?  Trap those two idiots inside and try to  _surprise_  me?  You see why I have to end you now, right?  We can’t have you reproducing, man.”  Stiles flattened his palm, holding it level over the Alpha's torso and pressing down on thin air.  The blood flowed more freely, the wound in its chest getting deeper, and the scent of agony grew so strong that Derek had to stop and breathe through his mouth.  Stiles’ lips stretched into a tight smile.  “Neat, huh?  I just  _think_  knife and—poof, you  _experience_  one.”

Derek finally got close enough to watch the red in the Alpha’s eyes flicker and extinguish.

Stiles turned to him the instant it was done, as though he’d felt the last beat of its heart the same as Derek.  “You all right?”

Derek stared down at Stiles’ hands, pupils blown wide.  Those strong, commanding hands.  Stiles grimaced slightly.  “Shit, sorry, I know you don’t like the tattoos,” he said, as he twitched down his sleeves again.

Derek stopped him, rolled them back up.  He caught Stiles’ eyes, running a thumb over one of the thick, black lines on his skin.  “I don’t like how much you’ve had to change for me.”

“I was  _always_  pretty GD awesome, dude,” Stiles said lightly.  He stepped closer, smile widening into a smirk.  “And change isn’t always a bad thing.”

“You have no fucking idea what you do to me,” Derek told him, breathless, helpless to do anything else in the face of watching Stiles  _kill_  just by  _imagining_  it.  He took Stiles’ large, capable hand and pressed it to his dick – which was so hard it was almost painful. 

Stiles grinned wide and pressed up against Derek’s thigh, his own cock hard and throbbing.  “I think I might have some idea,” he said, voice going low and breathy.

A clatter of metal on gravel threatened to tear Derek’s attention away from Stiles and the _heat_  in his eyes but Derek ignored it.  At least until Scott shouted, “You  _know_  I’m happy for you, Stiles, but not so much that I’m okay with dying while you and Derek fuck each other’s brains out.”

Stiles groaned, pulling away to jog over to Scott and muttering under his breath to him, “Come on, man, be a buddy.”


End file.
